


Here’s What’s Bad About Being Good

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anger, Canonical Character Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misplaced Emotion, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, no beta we die like men, particularly stuff abt the T.O, some content borrowed from the Cable and Deadpool comics, vanessa’s still dead in this one folks, wade just likes the Tüch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Wade wants to die sometimes and Nate would rather that... y’know. Not happen.





	Here’s What’s Bad About Being Good

**Author's Note:**

> Oof this is my first actual Cablepool fic after consuming the,,, entire goddamn tag rip
> 
> Title comes from Liz Phair’s _Perfect Misfit._

“You know what sucks?” Wade says conversationally from his side of the couch. (And by _his side,_ Nate means the whole damn couch, because he’s got his legs all up in Nate’s lap and his head on the armrest on the other end. He’s pretty goddamn sure that whoever taught Wade how to sit on couches needs to be put in jail. As soon as possible. _Yesterday._ ) Nate can already feel a headache blooming in his temples.

“The fact that you don’t know how to leave a perfectly good silence alone?” Nate growls, more out of habit than actual annoyance. He’s more used to Wade’s antics than he’d like to admit to anyone, least of all Wade himself.

Wade shows no sign that Nate’s less-than-friendly demeanour has fazed him. “Wanting to kill yourself and not being able to fucking die _really_ sucks,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and Nate’s head jerks up before he can stop the automatic reaction.

Wade is staring at the ceiling, his gaze partially unfocused, and Nate knows without even peering into the forefront of his mind that he’s thinking about Vanessa. Any annoyed, gruff response that might’ve been floating on the tip of Nate’s tongue dies on the spot at the sight.

Instead, Nate feels himself soften, and he lays his flesh-and-blood hand down carefully against Wade’s sweatpant-clad shin. Wade doesn’t respond, but his leg twitches a little beneath the touch.

“Wade,” Nate says softly. He’s not growling anymore.

Wade stiffens. “Am I talking out loud again?” he asks, obviously shooting for _child-like innocence_. He misses it by a mile and lands in _Deadpool depressed_ instead when his voice cracks and threatens to break. “I hadn’t even realised.”

“You can just say you miss her, you know.” Nate lets his T.O hand drop from the back of the couch to Wade’s shoulder, resting his fingers against the back of Wade’s scarred neck. “Nobody will fault you for that.” _Least of all me._

Wade snorts, but Nate doesn’t miss the way he leans back into his hand like he’s desperate for the contact. “Yeah, right.”

They sit that way in silence for a minute, until Nate starts to wonder if the hand he’s got on Wade’s leg is as awkwardly placed as it feels. When he starts to move it away, Wade’s own hand shoots out lightning-quick and snatches it.

“Don’t,” Wade snaps, but it’s a demand and a plea and a cry for help all in one desperate word, so Nate takes it for what it is and doesn’t get angry. Instead, he wiggles his fingers until Wade gets the hint and lets Nate tangle their fingers together comfortably.

Wade shuts his eyes tightly, so Nate runs one metallic finger along the back of his neck, stroking gently over the ridges of his skin. “I’m right here,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.” _And neither are you._

* * *

Some days are harder than others. Nate knows how much shit Deadpool takes on a consistent basis, knows how much shit _Wade_ has to let wash off his back.

Some of it sticks, and the stuff that sticks eventually piles up and spills over, like shit is oh-so-apt to do. (And Nate is gonna kill Wade himself one of these days for the fact that his ridiculous internal monologue seems to be rubbing off on him.)

But some days are hard for Nate, too. Living in this cracked-up past is very nearly as awful as living in his own cracked-up present (or future, depending on the point of view) had been. Everything is just a _little bit_ different than what he expects, and everyone is just a _little bit_ more fucked up than he thinks they’re going to be.

Whatever those bullshit romantic historians tried to claim before Firefist had destroyed all public records, Nate knows the truth about the past. The past _sucks._ Big time.

* * *

“I swear to fucking god, Wilson, if you make any more fucking comments about wanting to blow your own brains out, I will find one of those fucking mutant collars and kill you myself!”

Nate shoves Wade —who’s still nearly fully-suited in Deadpool’s signature red and black spandex— so hard against the wall that he can feel the floor tremble momentarily beneath his feet. He’s choking Wade before he fully realises what he’s doing, his T.O hand wrapped tightly around Wade’s throat.

Wade chokes out a sound that vaguely sounds like he’s agreeing to Nate’s given terms, so Nate forces himself to take a breath and relax his fingers. It takes a fair bit of coaxing and even more simple blunt control of the virus to get it to cooperate, but eventually, Wade pulls in a gasping breath.

His entire body slumps forward against Nate’s, and Nate catches him automatically. He might be peeved, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to sink to Wade’s usual level of assholery. His T.O hand remains loosely pressed to Wade’s throat, and he takes stock of the rest of his body as Wade recovers enough air to be cocky again.

Two legs on the ground, crowding Wade against the wall. Flesh hand against the wall. Torso flush with Wade’s. Alright. And Wade is still breathing, which —against all fucking odds— Nate is glad for.

“'m sorry,” Wade rasps out, startling Nate from his mental inventory. Nate can feel Wade’s lips shift and brush against the juncture between his neck and shoulder as he talks. Wade’s face is the only part of him currently uncovered; Nate’s pretty sure the mask is lying somewhere beneath their feet, because Wade had been holding it before Nate had leapt at him and now he doesn’t seem to be.

Nate is torn between saying _you should be_ and just accepting the apology, but before he can choose what to say, he can feel Wade’s arms snaking around him gingerly, like Wade is expecting to be shoved off at any second. Much to his own (admittedly rapidly diminishing) surprise, Nate is more than content to let whatever it is Wade is doing play out.

“Wade—?”

“Shut up, Summers,” Wade mumbles, and the arms squeeze a little, the embrace turning into even more of a _hug_ with every additional second that passes. It’s not as strange as Nate expects it to feel. On the contrary, it feels just as _nice_ as every other ridiculous physical thing Wade has ever coaxed him into participating in. He can feel his own tension slipping away, anger and frustration from the day and from Wade’s constant tirade of self-hatred bleeding from his skin like it’s being sucked out by a particularly large leech.

Eventually, Nate sighs and drops his forehead to rest against the top of Wade’s head. “You actually mean something to me, you asswipe,” he mutters without venom. “As much as you might hate it—“

“I don’t.” It’s muffled and quick, and Nate continues without acknowledging that Wade’s said it, but it’s said all the same.

“—I don’t want you dead, alright? I went back in time to keep you alive.” _I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to._ “I’d prefer it if you stayed that way.”

Wade doesn’t respond verbally, but he nuzzles his head against the side of Nate’s neck like some kind of weird kitten. It’s rough and feels remarkably like someone sewed a piece of sandpaper into an otherwise flesh-covered surface, but it isn’t an unpleasant feeling in and of itself.

The tension melting around them is enough to placate Nate for the time being. He lets out another heavy breath and shuts his eyes, letting himself live in the moment. Wade is alive. They’re both alive, they’re both here, and somehow… that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this while standing at the reg at work today lmao ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> This might get a second chapter? But probably not. 
> 
> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


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